


Mr. Brightside

by lokit5083



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Suggestive Dialogue, Swearing, and it doesnt flow too poorly i dont think, enjolras isnt good at thIS, i did it i gave everyone at least one line, i hope you agree, its a train wreck honestly, references to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokit5083/pseuds/lokit5083
Summary: It started out with a kiss(Enjolras accidentally kisses Grantaire, and no one is of any help.)





	1. Enjolras

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samamandriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samamandriel/gifts), [wandasmaximoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/gifts).



     It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

     No, it wasn't supposed to happen _ever_. Enjolras was never supposed to _kiss_ Grantaire. It was abundantly clear that Grantaire _hated_ him. Sure, maybe Grantaire seemed to hate him _less_ , lately, but Enjolras figured that it could be some kind of exposure therapy. The more time you spend with something you hate, the less you hate it, right? That’s what had happened. They'd just grown more tolerant, nothing more, nothing less. The feeling he got in his chest when Grantaire smiled was just _tolerance_. It wasn't _feelings_. Enjolras didn't have _feelings_ for people, not like that. He didn't know if Grantaire did, either, aside from lust. So _obviously_ Enjolras had made a mistake in kissing Grantaire. A terrible, horrible mistake. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe the others would take pity on him and forget it ever happened and never mention it again.

     The very thought was almost enough to make Enjolras laugh. Almost. Maybe if he weren’t on the edge of a breakdown.

     He hadn’t meant to kiss Grantaire. He really, _really_ hadn’t. He’d _wanted_ to, but he hadn’t meant to. He’d gotten too caught up in the argument they’d been having, and the emotions had been running too high, and he hadn’t been thinking.

     So, in the middle of an argument about something he couldn’t even _remember_ anymore, he’d grabbed Grantaire and kissed him in front of everyone. Like a god damned _teenager_. The whole thing sounded like it came out of one of the books Jehan kept Oh, _Jehan_ , they’d never let Enjolras forget this. They were probably in the back room of the Musain right now still gushing over it.

     Enjolras, however, was not.

     He had let go of Grantaire, and once he’d regained his senses he’d bolted. Grantaire had been in a shocked and probably _appalled_ daze and hadn’t had the chance to say or do a thing before Enjolras was gone, the door closing behind him. He'd rushed past everyone, hardly paying attention to anything but the exit.

     He’d pushed the door open, taking a couple of steps before turning his back against the front wall of the café and leaning against it, his head tilted back and his hands shoved in his pockets. All his life, he’d never once given love a second thought. Love was a useless distraction that took time from the greater goal. And _Grantaire_. Grantaire was a loud, faithless drunk. There wasn't a single thing Enjolras liked about him. Except, maybe, his smile, and his laugh, and his talents, and the compassion he kept hidden beneath layers of cynicism, and the way he really did care about his friends, and—

     Enjolras took his hands from his pockets, groaning as he ran them over his face. Grantaire. Why did it have to be _Grantaire_? Granted, Enjolras was the last person to ask about what love felt like, but this certainly wasn’t dislike anymore. God, it had been easier when his glares and remarks were more genuine and less forced in an attempt to push away these god damned _feelings_. It’s not like the feeling would be mutual, anyway, so it would be best to continue as things were. He was sure Grantaire was horrified, now, though. He had been in the middle of telling Enjolras why he was wrong, as _usual_. Nothing about that was asking for a kiss.

     Enjolras groaned again.

     “Rough day?”

     Enjolras lowered his hands to see Combeferre standing beside him, that stupid _smirk_ on his face. Enjolras scowled as he shoved his hands back into his pockets. _Rough day?_ He’d been _right there_ , and Enjolras wasn’t in the mood for humor.

     “Shut _up_.”

     “Alright, alright,” Ferre replied, holding up his hands in a show of surrender. He was _smiling_. He thought this was funny. Of course he did. All of them probably did. It was _funny_ to see Enjolras in an uncomfortable situation. That was something that so rarely happened, so why not enjoy it?

     But apparently Combeferre didn't agree with that. “Enj,” he said, letting out a soft breath, “ _relax_.”

     “ _Relax_?” Enjolras repeated, clearly not relaxed. “You expect me to relax? Did you not see what just happened?”

     “Yeah, you kissed the boy you’re madly in love with, and then you left,” Combeferre answered, still smiling slightly, tone showing how clearly he was amused by this. It made Enjolras’ blood boil.

     “I am not _in love_ —”

     “I know; you hate him and love is for chumps. You’ve mentioned. But people don’t usually kiss people they hate. And I know you’re against all forms of affection, but sometimes things happen.”

     “Yes, _things happen_ , but not to me. I don't—I’ve never—”

     “I know, you only have eyes for justice—” that earned Ferre a glare, but he continued, “—but your eyes have obviously been cheating.”

     Enjolras groaned again, his head tilting back against the café, his eyes closed. “He hates me.”

     Combeferre _laughed_ , and Enjolras opened his eyes to glare at him. The laughter stopped as their eyes met, and Combeferre realized the other wasn’t joking. “You’re serious? Have you ever seen how he _looks_ at you? You’d think you were the fucking _sun_. The boy’s absolutely crazy about you.”

     That softened Enjolras’ glare, turning it instead into a look of confusion. “Then why is he always…?”

     Ferre shrugged. “Why are you?”

     “He's so…” Enjolras started with a sigh, “ _annoying_. All he does is drink, make awful jokes, and complain about everything I say.”

     “ _But_?” Combeferre prompted.

     The other sighed again. “I've seen him when he's not. He's a good person, Ferre. He _cares_. Maybe not about what we talk about, but he cares about _us_. And he's _talented_. Have you ever seen his art? It’s good. It’s _really_ good. And, oh _God_ ,” he groaned again, running a hand over his face.

     “You know what you’ve gotta do, then.”

     Enjolras looked at the man next to him, expression tired, not liking the smirk that had reformed. “ _What_?”

     “Suck his dick. I mean, get a room, first, but then you’ve gotta suck his dick.”

     “ _Combeferre_!” The word came out much more high pitched than Enjolras would have liked, his eyes growing wide and a blush coloring his cheeks.

     Combeferre only laughed.


	2. Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire would like to not be here right now, but no one is supporting that.

     “Suck his dick.”

     The words shook Grantaire from his thoughts, a horrified look on his face as he met the eyes of the one who had spoken. _Courfeyrac_. Just as how Combeferre had chased after Enjolras, Courfeyrac, of course, was eager to _help_ Grantaire.

     Enjolras had kissed him. He’d been yelling, and then he was _kissing_ him. Enjolras! Kissing him! Enjolras, the fucking _god_. It had to be a mistake of some sort, Grantaire was sure. How could Enjolras, a literal god made of gold, want to kiss _Grantaire_? It had to be some kind of joke. A sick joke to play with Grantaire’s emotions. Or maybe it was a kind of pity kiss. Or just a way to get him to shut up. Any of those answers seemed more likely than the choice that Enjolras kissed him because he’d wanted to.

     “So I guess that’s a ‘no’?” asked Courfeyrac, again stabbing through Grantaire’s thoughts.

     “I am not going to do that,” Grantaire replied, dropping into a nearby chair, his head falling into his hands, and his elbows resting on his knees. This was a _disaster_. But at least Enjolras had bolted before he’d gotten a chance to witness Grantaire’s complete breakdown. Granted, he’d probably left out of sheer _disgust_ , but Grantaire was grateful anyway.

     “I'm just suggesting the easiest route, but hey, if you'd rather suffer, be my guest,” said Courf with a clearly amused smile.

     Grantaire groaned from behind his hands. He was going to _kill_ Courfeyrac, or move to Mexico. Maybe both.

     “I texted Cosette a few minutes ago,” offered Joly from the other side of the room. She’d be able to handle Grantaire.

     “Good. She’ll be able to say something nice when I die,” Grantaire replied, lifting his head from his hands.

      “Don't be so dramatic,” piped in Jehan, and Grantaire was beginning to regret staying in the back with everyone while Enjolras and Combeferre were outside, because Joly seemed to have opened the floor for the rest to start offering their own _advice_ , “it was a _kiss_. It was quite a show, too. I, for one, enjoyed it. It was like a bad soap opera.”

     “And we all know how much Jehan loves bad soap operas,” said Bossuet from where he sat with Joly, in spite, or probably _because_ , of how _unwanted_ his input was. It was clear he was enjoying this as well. They _all_ were.

     “Oh my God,” groaned Grantaire “you are all uninvited to my funeral.”

     “What’s so bad about a kiss?” asked Marius, breaking his previous silence. A glance at him told Grantaire he was being serious. At least _he_ wasn't enjoying Grantaire’s suffering. “Hadn't you wanted him to kiss you?”

     “Ah, sweet, naïve Marius,” Grantaire sighed, leaning back in his chair, “that’s true, but now that it’s happened he’s gonna wanna _talk_ about it, and it was probably an _accident_ anyway, so he’ll want to talk about how it was an accident, and how he never meant or wanted to kiss me.”

     “I don't think it was.”

     Grantaire sat upright to look at Marius. “Hm?”

     “I don't think it was an accident. Enjolras…doesn't really do things on accident.” Sometimes his innocence was refreshing.

     “Yeah, because he's _perfect_. I'm afraid I will have to disagree with you here, though. Gods don't kiss mortals like me on purpose.”

     “Bullshit,” scoffed Courfeyrac. “He likes you.”

     “That's funny,” replied Grantaire, running his hands over his face.

     “Sure, he thinks you're an annoying, good for nothing drunk, but when you're actually _not_ yelling at each other, you should see how he looks at you. And I _live_ with him. Sometimes he’ll start talking about you. He usually starts with something you did wrong, but then it moves onto your potential and talents and shit. And he smiles, and I’ve never seen Enj look like that about anyone or anything except justice. You're on the same level as _justice_.”

     Grantaire looked at Courf, expression a mixture of disbelief and confusion. He opened his mouth to reply, but, luckily, he was cut off by the door opening. Everyone turned their gaze from Grantaire to the doorway to see Cosette entering.

     “Biscuit! Perfect timing!” Grantaire called, standing and stepping over to her. “Oh, biscuit, it’s terrible. But at least I get to see you one more time before I move to Mexico.”

     Cosette kissed his cheek, giving a small smile. “Joly told me you were gonna be overreacting. You can't go to Mexico because a boy kissed you. I’d miss you too much.”

     “Then come with me,” Grantaire offered, choosing to ignore the comment on his behavior.

     “No,” she replied simply, smile widening. “We’re both gonna stay here. I saw Enjolras and Combeferre on the way in, and Ferre caught me up on the details. Enjolras is totally into you, by the way.”

     “People keep saying that, but I don't really believe you.”

     “Enjolras doesn’t really talk to anyone, aside from what slips out when he’s talking about something else. But _Combeferre_ talks, and so we know Enjolras sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, talks to him. About you. Believe it or not, you actually make Enjolras experience emotions.”

     “Yeah, like anger, and irritation, and disgust. I thought that was common knowledge. You know, based on how open he is with how much he dislikes me,” Grantaire replied as he moved to sit at the nearest table, where Bahorel and Feuilly we already sat, taking the bottle of wine that was before the others.

     “First of all, that's mine,” Bahorel said as he reached forward to take the bottle from where it was pressed against Grantaire’s lips, “and second, he’s been nicer, lately.”

     “Yeah, and I’m nice to Pontmercy sometimes, but I don't wanna suck his dick.”

     Marius choked on his water, and Cosette, who had moved to sit with him when Grantaire moved, gently pat his back. This went unnoticed by Grantaire.

     “Okay,” offered Feuilly, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, “but you didn’t kiss Pontmercy. Enjolras kissed you. And you like Enjolras, and Enjolras likes you.”

     “This still sounds very, very fake.”

     “People say that about a lot of things that turn out to be true,” said Joly.

     “And also about things that are fake,” replied Grantaire.

     “This isn't working,” complained Bossuet.

     “Nope,” sighed Courfeyrac.

     “Let’s try a different approach,” offered Jehan, sounding hopeful that they could still manage some kind of damage control.

     “Like?” asked Courfeyrac, eyes resting on the other.

     “Let’s bring Enjolras back in.”

     At this, Grantaire jerked to attention, eyes sharp on Jehan. “No, no, let's not.”

     Courf ignored him. “Let the boys figure it out for themselves, now that they’ve each had their breakdowns,” he said with a nod as he stood.

     “Or we could sneak Grantaire out the back,” Grantaire offered weakly.

     “No, we’re gonna do the other thing,” Courf replied as he stepped to the door.

     Grantaire pleaded, doing his best to sound as pathetic as he could, but it was ignored.

     Courfeyrac left, closing the door behind him.

     Grantaire groaned.


	3. Forced Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all else fails, lock them in a room together.

     “Enjolras, in; everyone else, out. Except Grantaire. He stays.”

     All eyes raised to look at Combeferre standing in the doorway, most seemingly pleased with this announcement. Grantaire was not. He opened his mouth to complain, but the others were already filing out. Once he was alone, Combeferre gave an annoyingly satisfied smile as he motioned for Enjolras to enter the room. Both he and Grantaire glared, but Ferre seemed to only grow more pleased.

     “Have fun, you two,” he said once Enjolras was in, his grin widening as he closed the door, leaving them alone.

     Enjolras did not seem angry. Sure, he seemed annoyed with Combeferre, but Grantaire was, too. It was almost strange to see him in the same room with Grantaire without being angry. He looked tense and tired. Grantaire watched him as he sat. He could have been closer, but he could have been further, too.

     A silence filled the room, tense and uncomfortable. For once, neither knew what to say. Minutes passed, accented only by the adjustment of bodies. An inner battle raged within both men, between the urge to flee and the desire to feel the other’s lips pressed against theirs again. Each figured the other would be disgusted by the latter, but the longing thought unrequited kept them from the former. Jehan was right; it _was_ like a bad soap opera.

     But like all silences, it lasted to a point where it became intolerable. It was broken, reluctantly, by Enjolras, voice colored with uncertainty, lacking its usual serious tone.

     “That was my first kiss.”

     Grantaire was jerked abruptly from his thoughts, eyes landing on the chief. But he didn't look like a chief. Where there was usually power, Grantaire now saw anxiety. Enjolras was always so careful with his less flattering emotions, and it almost disturbed Grantaire to see those now come to surface. Not only did the tone affect him, but the words spoken, too. They both shocked and confused Grantaire. How could that have been Enjolras’ first kiss? Enjolras, who was a _god_ , who was literal sunlight brought together in the form of a man. How could _Grantaire_ have been his first kiss? And if that were true, _why_?

     “ _Fuck,_ really?”

     Enjolras’ eyebrows drew together, and he frowned. Grantaire had offended him. _Again_. He hadn't _meant_ to, but for a guy like _Enjolras_ to say something like that, well, it was surprising.

     “Don't get yourself all worked up, Apollo,” Grantaire sighed, knowing he was going to be scolded. Any other day, he’d take the chance to fight with Enjolras, but he was too tired, now.

     “I don't like you judging me, Grantaire.” Enjolras replied, clearly set on making his point regardless of what the other wanted.

     “Oh my _God_ , Enjolras,” Grantaire groaned, running a hand over his face, “I'm not _judging_ you. You can save it, okay? I just meant, y’know—”

     “No, I really don't,” Enjolras cut in, and he was met with a glare.

     “If you would let me talk, you would,” sighed Grantaire, “I just meant, fuck, you’re just,” he motioned at Enjolras, huffing hopelessly, "you're _gorgeous_."

     Enjolras looked at Grantaire, gaze confused and surprised. He opened his mouth to reply, but it closed again after a second. He'd been complimented on his appearance before, even by Grantaire, but not like this. This wasn't with a toxic tone, nor was it with anger. It was genuine, and that wasn't something he was used to from Grantaire.

     Enjolras huffed out a sigh. "That doesn't mean I have to _use_ it.”

     “So you've just walked the world, denying everyone your beauty?” asked Grantaire, eyebrows raising.

     “Why should I do anything I don't want to? I never owed anyone anything, regardless of anyone throwing themselves at me,” replied Enjolras, now glaring at Grantaire.

     “Yeah, alright, Apollo, you're an icon of self control. But, then, why’d you waste your first kiss on _me_?”

     Enjolras, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not _self control_ , Grantaire. It's lack of interest. I never _cared_. I wanted to kiss you, Grantaire. I never wanted to kiss anyone else, but I wanted to kiss _you_.”

     It was Grantaire’s turn to fall silent, now. Enjolras wanting to kiss him was the last option he had been expecting. Why would _Enjolras_ want to kiss _him_? Even with the facts set out in front of him, he still didn't understand.

     His silence clearly wasn't what Enjolras had wanted, as he let out a huff. “Listen, I'm sorry. I’m sure I made you incredibly uncomfortable, and I really didn't want to do that.” He was sure that whatever decency that had formed between them would be cut, now. He wouldn't mind the fighting, they did that anyway, but now that he was _feeling_ things, it would be hard to get back into hatred.

     “ _You_ make _me_ uncomfortable?” Grantaire asked, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. The only uncomfortable thing was that he thought it would be the only time he got to kiss Enjolras.

     “Yes…? Nothing you said or did indicated you wanted me to kiss you,” Enjolras asked, eyebrows drawing together as he experienced a strong sense of _missing something_. Combeferre had assured him of Grantaire’s feelings, but it hardly seemed true. “And anyway, you hate me.”

     Grantaire let out a short huff of an incredulous laugh as he ran his hands over his face. “Enjolras, that was probably the best moment of my _life_. You are an asshole, I’ll give you that, but you're not all _that_ terrible. The thing I don't understand, though, is why you would want to kiss _me_.”

     Enjolras frowned, looking at Grantaire like he was oblivious to something obvious. “Even if you pretend not to be, you’re a good person beneath your layers of alcohol and cynicism. You're talented, and you're smart, even if you never choose to believe it.”

     “Now what I said looks like shit,” Grantaire sighed, “but fine, if you want to get all _sentimental_ about it, I can do that, too, I _guess_. I like hearing you talk about things, even if I don't give a shit about any of your topics. I think, if anyone could make me believe in something, it's you.”

     Again, Enjolras was silent as he thought over what Grantaire said. Sure, he’d always done his best to influence as many people as he could, but he’d long ago accepted the fact that Grantaire would not be one of those people. He didn’t even know why Grantaire came to the meetings. If anything, he figured it would be only to enrage Enjolras, but he supposed he had a reason, now.

     A moment passed before Enjolras spoke, voice soft and thoughtful as his eyes rested on Grantaire. “Can I kiss you again?”

     Grantaire put his hands over his face, letting out a soft huff. “This has _got_ to be a fucking dream,” he said as he dropped his hands, “but even if it is, I’m not that stupid. _Yes_ , you can kiss me again.” Dream or not, there was no way he would say no to a _kiss_ from _Enjolras_.

     This seemed to please Enjolras well enough, for which Grantaire was grateful. The blonde stood, smiling faintly as he stepped over to the other, stopping in front of him. Grantaire looked up at him with an expression of a man seeing the sun for the first time. As much as he tried to keep himself from hoping, he couldn't stop it completely. _Can I kiss you again?_ Not only did Enjolras kiss him once on purpose, but now he wanted to do it again. If this was a dream, it was a damn good one.

     And then Enjolras bent down to press his lips against Grantaire’s, and every thought came screeching to a halt. His lips were soft and warm against Grantaire’s, and Grantaire could not begin to focus on anything except that feeling. _Christ_ , this was the best day of his life. He moved, after a second, to stand from his seat so they could be more level. Enjolras hummed appreciatively and put his hands on the other’s hips, and Grantaire was certain he was probably going to die.

     Grantaire smelled like smoke, and alcohol, and paint, and Enjolras could taste the former two on his mouth, and it was awful but it was _Grantaire_. It contrasted so greatly to the simple, soapy scent that clung to Enjolras’ skin, but if it meant being close to Grantaire, Enjolras could see himself quickly favoring the combination.

     “You two done yet?”

     Enjolras and Grantaire pulled apart as a voice came from the other side of the door. It was Bossuet. They looked to the door, and when Grantaire looked back at Enjolras, he saw he was _blushing_. This was _definitely_ the best day of his life.

     “I mean, take your time,” Bossuet began, “but the rest of us are getting bored out here.”

     Enjolras sighed and pulled away completely, much to Grantaire’s dismay, which must have been more obvious than he had planned, as he earned a small, smile from Enjolras.

     “We can do that again later,” he said.

     Grantaire still had a suspicion this was a dream, a game, or even some sort of drunken hallucination, but if it was, he'd be happy to live with it. And if it _was_ real, then he'd be able to kiss Enjolras until he believed that, and that didn't sound so bad, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @enjamras


End file.
